


Nostalgia Porn (Is The Best Porn)

by ladyfoxxx



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Porn, Porn Video, Pornstars, Secret Identity, Voyeurism, secretly a sex worker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:15:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyfoxxx/pseuds/ladyfoxxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Ian's thoughts are interrupted as Brendon, his gaze stuck firmly on the screen, asks, in a rather startled voice, "Why do you have porn of Ray Toro on your computer?"</i>
</p><p> </p><p>AKA the one where Ray has a secret past in porn and Ian finds out</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nostalgia Porn (Is The Best Porn)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pennyplainknits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennyplainknits/gifts), [ro_mm_ck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ro_mm_ck/gifts), [kopperblaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopperblaze/gifts), [BeBunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeBunny/gifts).



Brendon laughs for a solid five minutes when Ian pulls out his laptop. Between wheezes and hiccups he manages to choke out, "Dude, when is that from - the nineties?"

Ian tries to form an appropriately witty and cutting response. Unfortunately, this giant brick of a laptop actually is from the nineties - or well, close enough.

"Shut up. My Mac is in the shop."

Brendon waggles his eyebrows suggestively, "You went and got yourself a virus from the seedy side of the internet didn't you?"

"No, the battery is fucked."

"A likely story." Brendon shows zero remorse and grabs the laptop from Ian, groaning as he hefts it, "Jesus this thing is heavy."

"Look, I haven't had to use it since high school - it was cutting edge when I first got it."

Brendon heaves the lid open and says, "It's a paperweight Ian."

Ian shrugs and says, "It's just for like, emails and shit, until I get my other one back."

"You can do emails on your phone. This is for porn." Brendon starts clicking around Ian's computer, a crease of concentration appearing between his brows.

"What are you doing?" Ian asks

"Looking for your porn folder." Brendon says breezily, not even looking up.

"Who says I even have a porn folder?"

Brendon raises an eyebrow at Ian over the laptop screen. "This thing isn't old enough to predate the internet."

He's right, of course. Ian tries to remember if there's anything embarrassing on the computer, but high school was a really long time ago and mostly a haze of drunken parties in between trying not to get beat up. He's not fast enough, anyway, because Brendon whoops out a cry of triumph. 

"Aha! Gold. You know putting in a folder called 'Personal' just makes it more obvious, right?"

"I do now," Ian sighs, flopping onto the couch and waiting for the unavoidable teasing that will no doubt follow.

"Ahh. Nostalgia porn is the best porn," Brendon says, clicking frantically. Ian really wants to crane his head to see the screen out of curiosity, but at the same time he knows he really, really doesn't want to know what Brendon is looking at.

"An entire folder dedicated to cum shots? My man, you got taste."

Ian shrugs. "I know what I like."

"You sure do. Apparently you like Ramon. You have like, an entire folder dedicated to him."

"Oh my god!" Ian makes a grab for the laptop. "Holy shit, I totally forgot about him."

"Oh really? Old boyfriend? Is this _homemade_?" Brendon looks gleeful at the prospect. He's also not letting go of the laptop.

"No, god no, in my _dreams_. He's like -" Ian catches himself before he can gush, because fuck, how could he have forgotten? Ramon was like, the closest thing Ian had to a boyfriend back then, he spent so much time jerking off to his videos. (Hey, Ian wasn't exactly out in high school he didn't really get much. Or well, any.) "Everyone's got favourites, right?"

"Right." Brendon beams back, already reaching for he touchpad, "I've gotta see this guy."

"You really, really do. But just remember, he was _mine_ first."

Brendon hums in response and Ian can hear a video starting up. He desperately wants to look over at the screen, but he's very aware that if he so much as lays eyes on Ramon he's likely to pop a boner and as close as he is with Brendon and the guys, there are some things that just don't need to be shared.

It's a hard thing to hold back on. Fuck, it's been _years_ since Ian's seen any of Ramon's videos and they were seriously, seriously good. Ian still doesn't know how one guy jerking off in front of a camera could be hotter than all the other porn ever, but it totally was. At least it was at the time - fuck, what if they don't stand up? What if it's like when you go back and watch a film you loved as a kid and discover that it sucks, and that one of the actors in it is now on a terrible TV show you hate? God, Ian's not sure if he could deal.

His thoughts are interrupted as Brendon, his gaze stuck firmly on the screen, asks, in a rather startled voice, "Why do you have porn of Ray Toro on your computer?"

*

"Oh god. Oh god. I have to tell him right?" The hard sides of Ian's laptop dig into his arms where he's hugging it to his chest.

"No. What? No, you don't have to tell him, you have to _show me_ ," Spencer argues, making grabby hands at the laptop. Because of course the first thing Brendon did after he discovered that Ian had a number of videos of Ray Toro jerking off on his laptop was tell Spencer fucking Smith.

"No, you guys. I shouldn't have these. I should delete them."

"Don't you fucking dare!" Spencer gets his hands on Ian's laptop but Ian isn't letting go for anything. "Not until you've shown me." He turns to Brendon, "He's huge, right?"

"Seriously huge," Brendon responds, because he has no honour.

"Guys, come on. This is a big deal. We shouldn't have these. Brendon and I shouldn't have seen them, fuck., if these got out it would be a huge scandal."

"I can't believe you didn't know it was him."

Ian waves a hand around, nearly dropping the old brick of a laptop, and he scrambles to get his grip back on it. "It's like, god I don't know - did you ever see the movie The Wizard?"

"Stop trying to change the subject."

"No listen, The Wizard, the one where the autistic kid is in the video game tournament?"

"Oh the one with Fred Savage - and the Powerglove." Spencer nods solemnly, doing a vague Powerglove motion with his hand.

"Yeah, that one. I saw it when I was like, ten and then I saw it again years later - did you know who plays the older brother? Christian Slater. I had no idea it was him because I didn't know who Christian Slater was 'til I saw Heathers, so then when I went back and watched it I totally freaked out!"

"You're comparing Christian Slater to Ray Toro. I don't understand," Brendon says, deliberately dense.

"You're just freaking out because the guy you've just realised the guy you have a guitar hard-on for and the guy you used to jerk off to are the same guy," Spencer says.

"Dude, you guys are made for each other." Brendon drops his head onto Spencer's shoulder and sighs dreamily.

"You should tell him - he's single, right? Is he into guys?" Spencer is so not getting the point.

"Yeah, he had a thing with Patrick's old guitar tech once," Brendon says, because he's so totally not getting the point either. "Oh my god! We have to tell Pete!"

"You are _not_ telling Pete. You are not telling _anyone_. Spencer. Brendon. Swear to me this is between us. We never speak of this again. Swear it."

Brendon lays a hand over his heart and one over Spencer's, "I swear. In the name of my lord and saviour Jesus Christ, that we will never speak of this again."

Brendon throwing Jesus' name around is a sure sign he's fucking around. "Be serious." Ian says, and great, now he's pleading with a madman.

"No it's cool, Ian, we won't say anything." Spencer says, grabbing Brendon's hand, "We know how to keep a secret, right B?"

Brendon mimes zipping his lips and locking them with a key, nodding enthusiastically.

Ian really wishes he could believe them.

*

Ian gets a phone call from Pete Wentz the very next morning.

"How could you not know you were jerking off to Ray Toro?" Pete asks, without even a hello.

Ian is going to _kill_ Brendon.

*

Pete tells Mikey, because he has no honour and Ian knows, he _knows_ that means that Mikey will tell Ray. Sharing secrets with your bandmates about guys in other bands is part of the bandmate code. So, well great, then every single one of Ian's music heroes will know that Ian spent his youth jerking off to Ray Toro. Ian hates _everyone_.

So when Ray, in his (fucking awesome) suit, approaches Ian at the NME awards after party Ian has to stand there and try really hard not to think about the fact that there is a 99.9% probability that Ray Toro is standing in front of him knowing that Ian spent the bulk of his teenage years jerking off to videos of Ray Toro jerking off. Or something like that.

Ian tries to smile and he certainly does _not_ let his gaze drop any lower than Ray's face. He wills god and Buddha and anyone up there to please, please let Ray not bring it up.

"Hi," Ray says, and smiles and Ian's knees go a little weak because Ray's smile is kind of like looking into the sun.

"Hi," Ian replies, and his voice doesn't crack so that's a win right there. "You guys were great tonight! At least, I think that was you guys in the balaclavas, right? No one else can play like that." Wow, Ian is really fucking smooth.

"Thanks, yeah it was us." Ray smiles an easy smile and Ian tries very hard not to think bad thoughts but Ray's lips are so… plush. "If you were a little taller I reckon you could have pulled my parts off though. Nice show tonight."

"Oh. Oh, thanks, that's really… thanks." Ian knows that burn in his cheeks means he's gone bright red. He tries even harder not to think about it. It still doesn't work. 

Ray, thankfully, doesn't mention Ian's amazing technicolor skin. He just grins and says, "Do you want a beer?"

"Fuck yes," Ian says with an embarrassing giggle.

Ray laughs too. It's more high pitched than Ian's and that's somehow comforting.

Ian manages to get through two drinks with Ray fucking Toro and he even maintains some semblance of a conversation. They discuss how underrated blues guitarists are and end up arguing Gretsch vs Gibson. Before he's even realised he's doing it, he asks Ray why he's the only one in the band without a sponsored rig.

Ray shrugs, shaking some curls out of his eyes, "Never gotten any offers."

"No way, are you serious?" Ian can't keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"So what? I play the people's guitar." Ray laughs, tossing his head so his curls settle on his shoulder and Ian really needs to finish his drink and walk away before his crush gets any more obvious. Damn Ray and his fucking hair and his fucking suit. Ian studiously ignores the open stares and waggling eyebrows Brendon and Dallon are sending his way. His bandmates are fucking assholes.

Ray settles back against the bar, leaning on his elbows and Ian just can't help it - his gaze skitters downwards. And yeah, okay, Ray is a little heavier than he was when he made those videos, but it's not a bad thing. His jacket is undone and the way his shirt stretches across his pecs and belly has Ian's gaze lingering. By the time Ian manages to drag his attention upwards again, Ray's eyes meet his and he knows he's totally sprung.

"See something you like?" Ray asks, and it should be the corniest line in the history of corny lines, but Ian's mouth just goes dry.

He opens his mouth to flirt, but all that comes out is a startled, "I deleted them."

"What?" Ray asks, looking confused.

Ian stammers for nearly a full minute before he gets the next part out, "I mean, I _could_ delete them." Ian corrects, "I can delete them. If you want me to, I'll delete them."

Ray just stares, obviously trying to put the pieces together and Ian prays for a convenient earthquake to open up a hole in the ground right beneath him, now, thanks. Unfortunately all that happens is Ray's face clears and he drops his voice and says, "The videos?"

"The ones of… Ramon, yeah." Ian admits and any minute now his cheeks are going to catch fire, he's sure. "I can delete them. It's not really, I mean, I didn't know it was you when I…" Smooth, Crawford. Real fucking smooth. "I haven't shown them to anyone - well Brendon saw part of one, but that's all, I swear. I'll delete them. You probably want them deleted." He finishes helplessly.

For a long moment Ray doesn't say anything, his gaze considering. "Do you _want_ to delete them?"

It's not the question Ian was expecting, and he can't help the startled "No" that comes out of his mouth without his permission. He tightens his hand into a fist to stop himself slapping a palm over his mouth.

Ray doesn't smile, but there's amusement sparking in his eyes. "So, don't," he says.

"Really?" Ian isn't entirely sure he's getting this, "But aren't they like, dangerous, what if they get out?"

"Are you planning on uploading them to the internet?" 

"Fuck, no." Ian can't think of anything worse.

Ray shrugs, looking incredibly calm about the whole thing. "They've been around for years, and it hasn't come up yet. We've got press releases already written just in case. The guys know, the lawyers know, the PR guys know. I mean, it wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done, but I did it and I'm done freaking out over what might happen if they get out."

Wow, Ray is so Zen about this he could host a talk show called "So You Did Porn In Your Youth And Now You're A Rockstar." Ian would watch it.

" _Why_? I mean. Why'd you do it?"

Ray tilts his head a little to the side, like he's considering whether to answer or not. "First time," he says, "it was for gear. My amp busted right before we were about to tour and I was gonna hit up the guys but then the van needed repairs and we were all broke and it just seemed easier to sort it out myself." The way Ray puts it, Ian can almost understand it.

"That was the first time," Ian leads, well aware that Ray did it at least eight more times. Times Ian is intimately familiar with. "Was it always for gear?"

Apparently it's Ray's turn to suffer from technicolor skin. His gaze slides to the floor, briefly. "Not always." 

Ian wishes he could pretend not to care, but he's seen the damn videos. He's seen how even in the first one, where Ray can barely manage to fumble his jeans open, where he hardly makes eye contact with the camera, by the end he's completely lost in it, giving it all up to the gaze of the lens, the lines of his body betraying him.

"You liked it, didn't you?" Fuck. Fucking liquor.

Ray looks up, one shoulder lifting with a carelessness that doesn't reach his eyes, "So? I like being watched."

Ian's breath comes out in a rush. He's a little light-headed all of a sudden and fuck, his pants are way too tight. "Nothing wrong with that," he says, trying to sound calm, but there's a telling crack in his voice.

Suddenly Ray is standing a whole lot closer. Close enough Ian can smell his cologne and the slight tang of sweat underneath it. He's not sure if he's swaying on his feet or if Ray is just leaning in. "Better if someone's watching, though," Ray adds, in a voice so soft Ian's not sure if he's imagined it.

"Are you teasing me?" he asks, because apparently there's no filter between his brain and his mouth tonight.

Ray's mouth pulls up at one side. God Ian loves looking at Ray's mouth. "Maybe a little."

This is definitely flirting. Possibly even past flirting and well on its way to propositioning. Too late to back down now. "You know it's only teasing if you don't intend to follow through." His mouth goes dry as soon as he's said the words and it takes all of his concentration to keep a smile on his face.

Ray just grins at him lazily, letting his gaze drop towards Ian's crotch before tracing its way back up to his face. "Oh I intend to follow through."

Ian needs to remind himself very, very strongly that he and Ray are in a crowded bar surrounded by a lot of bands Ian has on his iPod. This is not the appropriate time and place to climb Ray Toro like a tree. As much as he wants to.

God, but he wants to.

He squeezes both his hands into fists and keeps his feet firmly planted on the ground, but it's _hard_. "This is the part where we find out whose hotel is closer. I'm down the street at the Medina."

"I've got a room upstairs," Ray says immediately and his smile does nothing to diminish the intensity of his gaze.

"You win then," Ian says. He glances around, still not entirely convinced this whole thing isn't a particularly vivid dream and adds, "Lobby in five?"

"Meet you there," Ray says, and turns away looking as calm as if they'd just been talking about guitars the whole time. As he slides past Ian to make his way across the bar, the back of their hands brush. Ray's fingers tangle briefly with Ian's and he gives them a light squeeze, so fast you couldn't time it, but still enough to send sparks of electricity all up Ian's arm. 

Fuck, he's got it bad.

He doesn't bother trying to find anyone to tell them where he's going, he just goes.

*

Ian's still not entirely sure what he's done right in life to be standing in Ray Toro's hotel room (with Ray Toro in attendance), but if he ever figures it out he'll do it every fucking day. 

Ray seems a lot more casual about the situation than Ian is, or maybe he's just better at faking it.

"So, this is weird, right?" Ian offers, because he needs to say something and they're the only words he can think of.

"Not that weird." Ray shrugs out of his suit jacket and tosses it over the back of a chair. The white shirt he's wearing underneath is sweated transparent in patches. Ray's not wearing an undershirt. Ian can't stop staring. "Hotel rooms are pretty par for the course for both of us, I'd say."

Ian has to repeat the sentence back in his head three times before he can make meaning from the words. Ray's chest is really distracting.

"I guess, but it's usually only with the guys in my own band. I feel a little like a groupie." Ian admits, trying not to blush again. Not that he isn't kind of a groupie for Ray, both his musician and porn star personas.

Ian really just needs to stop talking.

"Nah, I don't mess around with groupies," Ray says, loosening his tie. 

"Does that mean we're going to mess around?" 

"I really hope so," Ray says, as he whips off his tie one-handed, fast enough to make the fabric rasp. He goes straight for the buttons on his shirt and Ian's mouth goes dry. 

"You're just… going to…"

Ray's got three buttons open and Ian can see the light scattering of hair over the exposed skin of his chest when Ray says, "You wanted to watch."

Ian nods, because yes he did, he _does_ , but so much more than that. He'll take whatever is on offer, though. "Yeah," he stammers, "I just-"

"You're overdressed," Ray interrupts, his tone casual but Ian can hear the subtle command in it. Ian peels off his jacket with hands that turn clumsy as Ray turns away and shrugs out of his shirt. His back is broad, his waist a little thicker than Ian remembers from stuttered videos, but he's still gorgeous. Mouthwatering.

"Turn around." Ian's voice is so unsure it comes out almost as a question, but Ray does turn, his hands on the buckle of his belt. Ian's eyes race over Ray's chest, the curve of his pecs, the bulges of muscle in his upper arms. He's more man and less boy than the images Ian's come to know so well from videos and it's definitely a stellar view.

A flick of Ray's wrist undoes his belt and he lets go of it, the weight of the buckle skimming the pants down Ray's legs to pool around his feet. Ian's breath catches. Ray's naked but for a pair of dark grey briefs that barely hide anything. They certainly don't hide his hard cock.

"I want to do more than watch," Ian says, because he's just going to say everything he's thinking out loud tonight, it seems.

Ray's mouth quirks up at the side and he says, "Okay then." He shifts his feet, toeing off his shoes and stepping out of his pants. "Your move."

Ian doesn't even need to think, his feet move on instinct, taking the two steps to stand in front of Ray before he drops to his knees. Eye level with Ray's crotch he can see the outline of Ray's dick against the cotton of his briefs, the wet spot where the fabric is stretched over the head. Ian's hard too, trapped under layers of fabric, but it feels less urgent somehow. Less urgent than Ian's need to sway closer, breathe in, smell the sweat and musk of Ray's body. 

He reaches up to curl his fingers into the waistband of Ray's briefs and asks, "Can I?" He knows exactly what he wants, a fantasy that's fuelled more jerk-off sessions than Ian can count.

"Fuck, yes," Ray responds, his voice heavy and breathless. It's the first crack Ian's seen in his control and he wants to make more, to shatter Ray's hold on it until he's gasping and panting for more.

Ian pulls the waistband of Ray's briefs outwards so it doesn't catch on his cock as he pulls them down. His fucking _cock_ , hard, upright, redder at the head than the shaft. Ian's mouth waters. The sight isn't exactly unfamiliar but now Ian can see it up close, smell it, even touch it. He gets Ray's briefs down to his thighs and reaches up, skating his palms over hairy thighs until his fingertips are twitching against Ray's lower belly.

Ray sucks in a breath and his stomach shifts under Ian's hands. Ian glances up and notices tiny lines around Ray's eyes and mouth showing slippage in his control already. Ray smirks and says, "What are you waiting for?"

"Nothing," Ian says quickly and ducks his head, licking slowly up the underside of Ray's dick and around the head, tasting salt and sweat. The breathy noise Ray makes is so fucking worth it, too. Ian cups one hand under Ray's balls, curling the fingers of his other hand around the base of Ray's dick and god, his fingers look tiny, delicate compared to Ray's wide ones. Ian groans in the back of his throat before leaning down, opening his mouth and taking Ray in as far as he can.

He takes it slowly, going down until his lips meet his fingers. Ray's cockhead nudges the back of his throat and Ian breathes through his nose, relaxing his gag reflex as much as he can. God, but he wants this to be good, the best. He pulls up and slides down again, sucking and swirling his tongue, still not really able to believe that he's sucking Ramon-- _Ray_ off. Fuck, it's like every fantasy he ever had rolled into one and a few of his groupie fantasies thrown in for good measure.

Ray moans, his belly trembling under Ian's hands and god, Ian knows that moan too well. To feel it under his lips as well as hear it is a new experience though and fuck, if he was any harder he could split a seam in his own pants. He hums around Ray's cock and swallows around the head, working a slow rhythm, using every trick he knows to make it good. 

Ray's hands come up to rest lightly on Ian's head and if Ian didn't have mouthful of cock he'd be smiling because yes, fuck yes, it's working. He takes Ray deeper, quickens his movements and Ray rewards him with more moans, his fingers burrowing into Ian's hair and hanging on. Ian groans around Ray's dick and works faster, massaging Ray's balls and stroking his fingers up to meet his lips. Ray's cock pulses under his tongue and Ian hums around it, his noises melting into Ray's until they're an endless feedback loop.

Ian doesn't know if he wants it to go on forever or if he can't wait to feel Ray come under his lips. Ray's control is all but gone. He's groaning louder now, his fingers tight in Ian's hair to the point of pain and his hips push forward in rhythm with Ian's mouth. Fuck, but Ian still wants more. He wants Ray to fuck his mouth raw, to choke Ian on his cock. Fuck. _Fuck_ just the thought has him reaching down to press his dick through his pants. He's so turned on he's light-headed, body swaying with every push of Ray's hips. There's nothing else but Ray's taste, his smell, the feel of him under Ian's mouth and hands, and underneath all that the rhythm Ian's playing to, the one they're both moving to.

Ian curls his fingers like he's looking for a chord, tightening them around the base of Ray's dick and works his mouth as fast as he can manage, pushing out harsh nasal breaths as he does. Ray's groaning turns constant and he bucks into Ian's mouth, just shy of all Ian can take and fuck, yes, that's it. Ian's mouth floods, bitterness mixing with sweat and saliva as Ray's dick starts to pulse. Ray's hands are tight in Ian's hair but Ian manages to pull off, stroking Ray's dick and keeping the head pressed to his lips, watching, just watching him come apart. 

Ray's face twists into a grimace and he shouts out his orgasm, his dick pulsing hot against Ian's lips. Ian turns his head, letting the warm spunk slide across his cheek, leaving him marked. Marked by Ray fucking Toro. Fuck, just the idea of it is enough to send him high and here he is, on his knees in a hotel room with Ray's spunk on his cheek. He's so turned on he's dizzy with it. It's pure instinct that has him fumbling for his zipper; he just has to get his dick out now, or he'll come in his fucking pants.

He struggles his belt and zip open, shoving his trousers and underwear down his thighs and reaches for his cock-

"Let me," Ray says, kneeling in front of Ian and then, fucking _Christ_ , Ray wraps his hand around Ian's dick and Ian stutters out a breath, nearly losing balance at even that first rough contact.

"Fuck, Ray," he pants, because god Ray's hands are huge. Ian's cock is not exactly Toro size, but it's nothing to be ashamed of, and Ray can cover most of the shaft with one hand. He finds a grip and starts to work Ian's dick, precome lending slide to the movement, his guitar calluses somehow familiar and yet hitting different spots to Ian's own.

Ian sputters another embarrassing noise, swaying forwards as his hips start to move in counter motion to Ray's hand. Jesusfuck it's good. Ray's working him exactly the right way, just rough enough that Ian can feel it. Ian's burning up, moaning and sweating and pushing against Ray's grip.

Ian slumps forward and Ray catches him around the back of the neck with one big hand, probably just to steady him, Ian thinks. Except Ray follows it up by leaning down and covering Ian's mouth with his own, kissing him hard. Ian makes a startled noise into Ray's generous lips and kisses back, the bitter flavour of Ray's come caught between their mouths, Ray's hand tight on the back of Ian's neck as his other hand works slick over Ian's dick.

Ian kisses back for all he's worth, grabbing onto Ray's arms to steady himself as he fucks into Ray's hand. God, he's so close, so fucking close. He breaks the kiss, shoving his face into Ray's neck and moaning, too loud, getting a mouthful of Ray's curly hair. Ray slides his hand from Ian's neck to his ass, hauling him close, until their chests brush, until the head of Ian's cock pushes against Ray's belly and just, fuck, Ian's so close to overload he can't see straight.

"Fuck, _fuck_ Ray," Ian groans into Ray's neck and he's too gone to tell but he could swear he hears Ray laugh at that. 

Ray's not fucking around anymore. He works Ian's dick faster, swiping his thumb over the head on every upstroke, pushing Ian's cockhead against his belly on the down stroke, sliding a hand between Ian's ass cheeks to press between them and fuck, that's it, that's fucking _it_.

Ian gasps, nearly choking on his own spit as his hips leap forward, pleasure shooting shock-fast through him as his body stiffens and he comes hard, spattering across Ray's belly. He clings onto Ray, gasping for breath, probably drooling all over his shoulder as Ray strokes him through the aftershocks with practiced hands.

It takes a while for his vision to clear and his brain to stop red-lining. When he comes back to himself he's got a mouthful of Ray's hair and his body plastered to Ray's, hanging on for dear life. Slightly embarrassed, he eases back, sliding his hands from Ray's arms and dropping his ass to the ground. Ray drops down to the carpet too, his legs sprawled in front of him and Ian can't help the way his gaze slides downwards. Ray's spent cock is still an impressive size, and there are red marks on his knees from kneeling on the floor.

"Sorry about that," Ian says, with a vague gesture at Ray's knees. Ray just shrugs and leans up to grab a box of Kleenex from the nightstand. Ian watches him wipe come off his belly in casual strokes, tossing the balled up Kleenex towards a wastebasket and giving a little snort when he misses.

Ray pulls a couple more tissues from the box and leans towards Ian. "Do you want-?" he asks, and Ian doesn't realise at first, until he goes to speak and feels the come starting to stiffen on his cheek.

"Oh sure," he says meekly, the warm rush of blood to his face telling him he's blushing and he tries to ignore it, leaning in to give Ray better access. 

Ray's hands are surprisingly gentle as he wipes Ian's cheek clean, his face close to Ian's. Somehow this feels more intimate than everything else they've done. Ian's mind races ahead, trying to figure out exactly what it is they've done, what it means, if he'll ever get a chance to do it again.

He glances up, settling his gaze on the gentle look of concentration on Ray's face as he deftly cleans Ian up.

Ian wants this again. The thought hits him so hard he loses his breath. He doesn't want this to be just a one-off thing, some kind of fantasy fulfilled. He wants to know Ray, to get into his head, to find out what he wants and give it to him. His rational mind tells him that's not what this is - rushed handjobs and blowjobs in hotel rooms aren't starting points for a relationship - but Ian doesn't want to hear it.

He's probably still missing a few brain cells from the mind-blowing orgasm, but maybe that's a good thing, because he doesn't hesitate to reach up and press his hand over Ray's where it rests on his cheek. He turns his face into Ray's big palm, presses a soft kiss to it, then looks up to meet Ray's gaze.

Ray's expression softens and for a long moment there aren't any words between them, no noise but their own breathing. Ian's heart rate triples, but he leans that little bit closer and takes Ray's mouth for his own. Ray kisses back immediately, his lips moving against Ian's, wet and firm and perfect. It's different from their earlier kiss, the desperation absent, but there's something deeper, needier in it this time. Ray's hand holds firm against Ian's cheek, his other hand sliding around Ian's waist, bringing them closer. Ian wraps his arms around Ray and holds on. He can't imagine ending this - can't, won't.

When they finally come up for air Ian's lips are tingling and the skin around his mouth feels raw with stubble burn. He doesn't care.

"We should probably go back down, huh?" Ray says, but his arm is still tight around Ian and he makes no move to stand up.

"I guess," Ian says, but he doesn't move either. He trails his hand up Ray's arm, thinking about all the different parts of Ray he wants to touch, all the things he wants to do and how none of them can occur in the downstairs bar. He turns his head to rest his cheek on Ray's shoulder, thinking this is it - it's over, and he should probably hurry up and get used to it.

"Are you in town much longer?" Ray asks, his voice sounding higher than usual, maybe even a little unsure.

Ian leans back, schooling the confusion away from his face. "We leave for Germany tomorrow."

Ray frowns, shaking his head, "Fucking schedules, man. We're not in Germany 'til Sunday. You'll be long gone by then I guess?" His expression hovers somewhere between agonised and hopeful.

"We're going back to the states on Saturday," Ian admits and Ray's face falls. As much as he looks like a kicked puppy, his obvious disappointment sparks hope in Ian's chest.

"You'll give me your number though, right? So we can stay in touch?" Ray asks, looking heart-breakingly uncertain and it's all the confirmation Ian needs.

"Of course," Ian says, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face. "Phone, email, the works." His heart is doing weird squeezy things and excitement buzzes through his bloodstream. Ray wants his _number_. Ray wants to _stay in touch_. 

Ray smiles, wide and brilliant and says, "Great." Ian can't help but return the grin, right up until the moment Ray starts kissing him again.

Ian doesn't need anything more than the kissing. He could happily do this for hours. Ray _had_ mentioned leaving, though, so somehow he manages to pry himself off Ray and climb back to his feet. His pants are wrinkled and gaping, his shirt sweated nearly see-through and he knows without having to look that his hair is damp and sticking out sideways.

Ian's a fucking mess, but Ray looks glorious, butt-naked with some kind of sex glow to his skin. He bends down to pick up his trousers and briefs and Ian gets momentarily stuck staring at Ray's bare ass.

"Do we really have to go back down there?" Ian whines, because damn, can he think of better things to do.

Ray turns around, his trousers in his hands, "I don't, not really. Do you?"

Ian considers the party. Everyone's so drunk they won't miss him and there's no way anything more awesome is happening down there than what just happened in this room. "No, I really, really fucking don't."

"Fuck yeah." Ray grins and drops his clothes back on the floor. He grabs a handful of Ian's shirt and drags him in for another kiss, breaking it almost as swiftly as he leans back to ask, "you _are_ going to take your clothes off this time though, right?"

"Oh hell yeah," Ian says, one hand already going for the buttons on his shirt. "You couldn't pay me to keep them on." 

Ray's smile is so worth it. "Great," he says, and leans in to take Ian's mouth in another kiss.

 

~end


End file.
